This gnarled Russian knot of Clinton hackees,
Is starting to sound like those WMDs,
Squawked far and wide as real and a threat,
But at story's end which finally met
A day of reckoning with regard to the truth,
All found to be ghosts, poor players, forsooth.
From could-be to maybe to impossible-to-scoff,
We've seen this scam building from five whole weeks off,
To corner the Donald and make him go squirms
On good Russ relations and then come to terms
With neocon thinking that like weeds and bugs
Infects foreign policy and MSM thugs.
Layer on layer the stories do mount,
Till they've reached Putin on whom they can count,
To provide us a baddie dark-scowling and fraught,
And lend that round mug to a scam-job well-wrought.
Like CSI-Vegas you need some big crumb,
To scare up some audience and rattle the dumb.
How Vlad must despair of our media wattle,
When he loosens tie and uncorks a good bottle!
He can't fight it or bribe it or bomb it to bits;
Just tell his own version and hope for some hits.
But diff' versions go begging along the airwaves:
RT on a good day or Alex Jones raves.
You'd think after all of the mess with Joe Mc,
We'd avoid a new crisis and ask for proof quick.
Bin Laden, Saddam, and now back to Russians,
All of it certain, no room for discussions.
Like A/C on cars the truth is an option,
Abandoned in haste, given up in adoption.
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